


stone

by zebraweb



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, a lot of hurt/comfort, a sickfic, hand holding, poor jaskier, some bathing/washing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zebraweb/pseuds/zebraweb
Summary: Jaskier is struck down by illness during their travels. Geralt begrudgingly nurses him back to health.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 34
Kudos: 826





	stone

**Author's Note:**

> back again with a self-indulgent sickfic that was supposed to be a drabble but ended up a 5k fic. idk how either. 
> 
> please enjoy. title based of jaymes young song 'stone'. give it a listen!

Warm candlelight submerged the room in a salmon blush, shadows of their fingers splaying themselves across the cramped room. It was here Jaskier lay on a bedroll, hastily spread out among the hay in a peasant's cottage.

Travel had caught the better of the man and flu had leeched itself in his blood, infecting his body and soaking through to the bone with sickness. Presuming it as a cold, Geralt finally had to stop when it became evident the bard was sick, collapsing in the rain as they travelled through an impoverished town.

Thankfully, after promising to take on a contract or two, an elderly woman promised them an empty room in her house and Geralt had carried the mud-soaked man through to the back room.

It had been days, Geralt had watched over him as his fever grew worse, delusional, dehydrated and aching all over. Most of the time he slept, naked under the covers, and sheets soaked through despite how often they were changed. Refusing to eat or drink, Geralt sought help in a place he wished he never had to, kneeling and throwing his pride to the dogs, he contacted Yennefer. 

She would arrive before sunrise, leaving Geralt to stew in his thoughts as Jaskier tossed and turned. Food was scarce, but he saved what he did had for Jaskier, even if he did refuse it. Tonight Geralt stayed close, his hands callous and shaking, toying with the sheet's frayed edges.

"You fool of a bard, allowing yourself to get so sick," Geralt muttered into the silence of the room. "Selfish bastard. We will both starve if I have to stay here and babysit you."

Jaskier stirred, opening delirious eyes and blinking wildly around the room. It wasn't often he was conscious. "Geralt?"

"Still here, idiot. Calm down," Geralt placed a firm hand on Jaskier's tummy and brought a glass of water to his mouth. Jaskier shook his head determinedly. The last time had resulted in it and his stomach bile coming back up around him. "Well you have no choice, I'll tie your hands back if I have to."

Holding the bard's wrists in one hand, Geralt tipped a small bit of water into his mouth and waited until he saw the glug of Jaskier's throat before conceding. His face was flushed with fever and blotchy, weakness beginning to set in after days of being bedridden. A horrible cough racked through his small body and Geralt winced, thankfully he wasn't coughing up as much blood this time. Shivers rippled down Jaskier's spine, spiders that made his muscles spasm.

"Easy," Geralt patted his stomach gingerly, "Yennefer will be here soon." On that note, Jaskier's eyes widened a touch before slipping closed, creases around his eyes and an anxious set in his brow. Usually Jaskier would be whining and moaning, composing ballads of _how sore his throat was_ , or _Gods my nose is so blocked_ ; the unnerving silence was an unusual presence. The backdrop of chatter gone. He was a single spectator in an empty theatre hall. _Blessed silence_. A twist spiked in his intestines. Well, he didn't want it _that way_. 

"G-Geralt," Jaskier croaked, lips trembling as sweat began to slither down his face.

"I saved you from that blood-thirsty ghoul, Jaskier, don't think I'm letting you die from a petty cold." Thankfully Jaskier couldn't see his face, pallor in the candlelight. "Have a piece of bread, you need your strength."

Jaskier shook his head, hair damp and beginning to grow longer without his almost clockwork haircuts. Sighing, Geralt tore pieces of stale bread from his fingertips and squashed them into small lumps. "Open," he gave little warning before pressing the food into Jaskier's mouth, making sure he wasn't going to choke and the bard swallowed obediently. It was soft, sliding down his inflamed throat with relative ease.

"Look at you, I'm going to tell all your noble friends back in town about this, you know? The Great Dandelion let me hand-feed him like an infant," Geralt said softly, mouth turning up at the slight frown that spread on Jaskier's brow for just a flicker of a moment.

However, he continued to obey, swallowing down the minuscule pieces given to him by Geralt who patiently fed him until the small chunk of bread was gone. _God, why on Earth was he going through so much trouble for such a pain in the ass_? A better man would have took a pillow to his face in the depth of his fever to spare the nights of suffering before death. Geralt didn't believe in giving up so cowardly, though.

Jaskier grabbed at Geralt's sleeve with desperate fingers. An odd action Geralt put down to fever until it slid and the bard was grasping at his hands. Appeasing him, Geralt allowed his hand to be held, cool against Jaskier's sweaty, boiling, slender digits.

"You really do give me so much trouble, Jaskier. When you are well again I'm going to shake you off my back for good," he muttered with little heat, absently stroking his fingers over Jaskier's knuckles. Wind whistled in the holes and gaps in the cottage's foundations and sent a horrid chill among them, a ghost of a presence.

"I didn't take you to be such a good nursemaid, Geralt." Yennefer appeared through a portal, arms closed across her black cloak and an eyebrow raised. Impossibly smug in the worst of situations, as always.

"Yennefer," Geralt growled, standing as though a soldier called to battle. "You came."

"I suppose I did." She shrugged, violet eyes surveying the situation around her with unnatural speed, mouth quirking up at the bard laid out, mumbling delirious words no one could understand but his hallucinations in the corner. "What happened?" Yennefer lifted her dress as she knelt down, splaying her hands across Jaskier's front, ignoring the way he opened his eyes in muted horror, attempting to wriggle away.

"Flu," Geralt shrugged. "I suppose he caught it from a village on passing, I don't know, Yen." Ignoring the way she grimaced at the nickname, he moved to Jaskier's other side and muttered against his ear, "Stop fussing, Jaskier. She is here to help you." Far too wide eyes gaped up at him like a brainless fish, Jaskier frightened and hurt, breaths short, scrabbling to claim back Geralt's hand.

Yennefer raised an eyebrow and gave them a look, knowing and difficult to place. She irritated him endlessly, supercilious and smirking like the answers of the universe were lit up in front, only ever known to herself. Always, she always made his blood boil. Although, Jaskier always said they were much too alike.

"Are you here to help or are you just going to stand there and smirk?" Geralt snapped at last, Jaskier moaned at the sudden raised voice and despite himself he rubbed an assurance over the bard's knuckles. He really was never going to live this down, was he? Although would anyone really believe Yennefer if she told them? 

"I don't know what you want _me_ to do here, Geralt," Yennefer bit back in return and her eyes shone darker in the muted light. "A human's illness requires a human's cure. It will take _time_ and glaring at me like that isn't exactly plucking on my heartstrings, you know?"

" _Please_ ," Geralt groaned, swallowing down his pride in one hefty, bitter gulp. _Begging_... to _Yennefer_ of all people. He may as well impale himself on his own silver sword and be done with it, dignity well and truly gone but then again, the nights spent nursing over the bard had made his head nonsensical. She was likely loving it, basking in his misery. Really, he should have known better than to piss her off so much during their last encounter. 

"You have potions, spells-"

"I have nothing more than you have, Geralt!" Yennefer snapped back, shaking her head and standing as though to leave.

"I will owe you," Geralt said suddenly, the words gutting him on the way out, clattering straight out of his chest, all the way up to his throat. _Where did that come from_? It wasn't as thought he had anything to give.

Conceding, she sighed. "Fine. But this is likely not to work, you stupid buffoon. It is a simple healing potion to amplify one's own healing process. By the looks of him there is little- if any, of _that_." Reaching down her top, she pulled out a small vial and tossed it to the witcher who caught it with ease, moving towards the glowing portal she conjured with a click of her fingers.

"Wait," Geralt caught her wrist before she left, sick, bitter taste in his mouth. "Thank you."

"What is so special about this _bard_ anyway?" Yennefer narrowed her eyes, the space between them was miniscule and Geralt felt his stomach fill with lead. 

"Nothing.... he's nothing special. Just a fool of a bard I can't shake off," Geralt grunted, eyeing up the lump curled into the bedroll, whimpering in pain. Apparently his eyes said it all as Yennefer stabbed a sharp nail into his chest.

"You are a _liar_ , Geralt." She spat into his face, their lips just inches apart and there was a time that Geralt would have loved to close the gap. Now, the thought was the furthest thing from his mind. "If you really wanted him gone, he _would be_ \- instead of following you around like this pathetic, little puppy dog." 

Geralt raised both his eyebrows, "You haven't seen first hand how persistent he is, _believe me_ Yen, I have tried countless times." 

Yennefer ignoring his attempts at jest, brought her hand up to rest on the nape of his throat, her eyes ghosting along the exposed flesh there and a normal- human man would have been quivering in fear. "Perhaps, Geralt, you forget I _know you_. I know the workings of your mind and the thoughts you so _desperately_ push down and repress. It's humiliating."

She drew her nail against his jugular before drawing back and soaking his senses in her smell. "A helpless bard, really Geralt?" Yennefer placed her hands on her hips and gazed at him like he was the dirt on her polished heels. "All the strong women... men... people on the Earth and it is that _ridiculous_ fool that steals your heart?"

Heart? Geralt felt his mouth gape open dumbly before she was gone with a blur of light, smoke, lilac and gooseberries. A swirled up mosaic of colours twisted among his brain before he caught hold of his senses, shoving back the nonsense Yennefer was fond of spurting, the outrageous romanticism of it all. As though everything had to be as dramatic and wonderful as she wished it to be. 

Teeth grinding, he knelt back down to Jaskier who he thanked the gods hadn't seemed to register their absurd conversation and he brought the vial up to his lips.

"No, no, no," Jaskier mumbled, struggling away before relenting when Geralt took both his wrists once more and the action made him pliant. Sickly sweet, it was cloying and stuck to his senses as it slid down his throat. Effects would be minimal, a raised fever and nausea but Geralt supposed it would be hard for the bard to feel any worse, anyways.

Leaning back on the grubby floor, Geralt stretched out his legs, elbows propped uncomfortably on the bedroll as he examined Jaskier. Breathing short, he was growing clammy and beginning to squirm. "What is it, Jaskier?" Geralt grunted, wiping back the damp hair glued to the bard's forehead. "Do you need the toilet? Or are you going to throw up?" 

Jaskier ignored the questions, eyes screwed tight as he clutched at his stomach. "It's not poison, calm down," Geralt grumbled, fixing the sheet sliding down his bare chest and pulling it up to reach his neck. "I smelled it, I promise."

Eyebrows began to smooth out on Jaskier's face at the small ministrations, the damp cloth being pressed onto his forehead, the water being brought to his lips, the rough but careful hands rubbing his belly now and then. It quelled the panic of death and he grabbed at Geralt's hand once more, squeezing it as tight as his weak body could before the potion eventually took him to slumber.

It was morning when Geralt arose, neck aching as he woke up hunched over Jaskier's makeshift bed. A horrid sleep, worse than many of nights he had sleeping under the howling stars. Jaskier sobbed hysterically with the delusions and dreams he had throughout the night. However, his fever must have broke when Geralt finally drifted off for a few blessed hours as he looked somewhat conscious when their eyes lazily met.

"Jaskier." Geralt grunted, rubbing a hand over his exhausted forehead.

"Geralt," Jaskier had the ghost of a smile on his face and it was like the sun had come up at last, shining bright and fresh air pooled into the dark folds of Geralt's mind. "My whole body hurts terribly, I don't seem to remember much it seems."

Moving to touch Jaskier's forehead, he could feel the more cool, clammy skin compared to the night before. "Flu. It seems Yennefer's potion did help." He muttered, almost to himself.

"Yennefer?" Jaskier stared at him quizzically, shifting in the blankets to stare owlishly at the witcher.

Geralt simply shrugged. It was irrelevant to divulge such information. 

"I'm naked," Jaskier took a peek under the covers and raised an eyebrow. "Tell me the truth, dear Geralt. You have taken me to this-" he paused, dumbfounded, "-this... _unknown_ place to finally have your wicked way with me, am I right?"

"You are a fool," Geralt snapped with a roll of his eyes. Almost back to his old self it seemed. "Put you out of your misery, more like." Words juxtaposed the gentle way his hands still lay close by; close to Jaskier's hand from where they had been dropped the night before. "Your clothes are out to wash, the widow here has them out to dry. You were vomiting and sweating too much to even keep them on." 

Frowning, cogwheels almost visibly turned behind Jaskier's eyes and Geralt braced himself. "You stayed with me all this time?" He uttered, a strange show of vulnerability rarely shown in the confident, pompous bard. It made his face unusually young, soft in a way that still looked attractive despite the fact he was soaked through and stank.

Geralt shrugged, "Roach needed the rest after our travels. I've had her in one of the good stables."

"Of course," Jaskier nodded, averting his eyes with a coy smile before erupting into a series of hacking coughs that stole the small reserve of energy he had. 

"Don't overdo yourself, Jaskier. I'll go to the widow and perhaps she can prepare you some soup. Lie down and try to sleep," Geralt stood with a stretch, stomach growling with a sad ache. Obedient for a change, Jaskier nodded and fell back into a snooze.

The woman looked stunned when Geralt presented her a small bag of coins for the ingredients for a soup. Never had he bothered when it was only his mouth to fill but now Jaskier was lucid he was going to need the strength and a good soup would provide him the nutrients he needed. 

Frowning, the lady wiped her hands on her apron. "I didn't expect the poor boy to live, I'll admit." Shaking her head with surprise, "Many a weaker man have died around these parts with the flu. I suppose he is made of strong stuff." Geralt swallowed down any agreements he might have made and assisted her in chopping the necessary vegetables, washing the chicken thighs and bringing in water from the well to boil.

 _Didn't take you to be such a good nursemaid_ , Yennefer's words echoed in his mind and he kicked at a loose rock in frustration. Such a know it all. As if she herself were above the emotions Geralt often claimed not to have. 

Soup prepared, Geralt carried a steaming bowl into the room, stuffy and smelling of sweat and illness. "Eh," he knelt to rouse Jaskier lightly, "It's time to eat, try to sit up a bit." Allowing a couple of minutes for the troubadour to pull his aching body to rest under bundles of clothes and sheets Geralt was using as a makeshift pillow, he leaned back, exhausted with effort. 

"Eat," Geralt passed him the bowl but his hands wobbled, dizzy and pale. This was going to end in third-degree burns for sure and was a hassle Geralt didn't have the energy for. "You really are an incompetent dunce." Reaching for the bowl, he took it back with a sigh and ignored the quirk of Jaskier's brow.

Taking a spoon filled with broth, boiled chicken and carrot, he blew on it and shoved it into Jaskier's mouth with little warning. Heat rose on Geralt's ears as he avoided the other's eyes tenaciously. If Vesemir or Lambert were to see him now he would be the laughing stock of Kaer Morhen. "Don't give me that look," he glared at Jaskier who swallowed innocently, eyes wide and shiny blue.

Filling the spoon once more, he blew and placed it in front of Jaskier's lips. "Why are you doing this?" He croaked, voice like sandpaper, ignoring the spoon. "Surely you have better things to be doing than tending to me."

Geralt shut him up with the spoon in his mouth, "I do, as a matter of fact," he snarled, heat creeping down his neck humiliatingly, "But I'm going to need someone to feed Roach while I complete some contracts here and you look barely able to stand." 

Jaskier shrugged and obediently allowed himself to be fed. An odd look on his face that made Geralt's guts turn inside out. "Contracts? _Here_? Why?" Jaskier frowned and Geralt was beginning to prefer near-to-death Jaskier. At least he was fucking quiet. 

"Stop _pestering_ me, I need the coin, Jaskier."

Food finished, Jaskier was flushed with the heat from the meal and stirred uncomfortably under the covers. "Geralt," he tugged at his sleeve lightly as the witcher made himself busy, tidying up their small room and nibbling on a chunk of bread. Ignoring him, Geralt collected dirty sheets from the floor to wash. " _Geralt_ ," he groaned again and when Geralt turned, the bard's cheeks were lightly coloured.

"What's wrong with you, now?" He knelt to frown in his face, eyebrows pinched. Jaskier shifted awkwardly, "I need the toilet."

Rolling his eyes, Geralt lifted the copper pot he had been using for the days where the bard was too weak to move. Flushing, Jaskier shook his head indignantly, " _Geralt_ ," he hissed, "I'm not some common mutt."

With that Geralt snorted. It seemed Jaskier was feeling more like himself after all. "I should just leave you here, what with how bratty you've been," he smirked, but knelt to help him before Jaskier kicked off. "C'mon, you can take a wash while you're at it. You smell like death."

Depositing him in the tiny washroom, Geralt left him to do his business while he collected buckets of water from the well. Roach neighed from the stables upon his approach and he fed her handfuls of oats. "I know, girl," he agreed with her pensive stare. "I'm a fool. He is much more trouble than his worth."

She neighed in response.

"I know. I will ditch him when he is well again, promise." Geralt patted assurances into her rich mane, noticing the way the widow must have combed the tats and washed her hooves. " _I know_ ," he groaned at her neighs. "If he keeps following me, he will end up dead, _or worse_."

Returning with the buckets, the sun had begun to set and the tiny washroom was dark. Lighting the candles, Geralt noticed Jaskier's hunched over, clammy frame leaning heavily on the copper bath. "What are you _doing_ , you fool?"

"I was trying to get into the bath," Jaskier huffed stubbornly, the obvious exertion leaving him drained.

"You should have just _waited_ for me, you impatient imbecile." Geralt moved to keep him upright. "The last thing I need is for you to pass out and smash your skull on the floor."

Looking abashed, Jaskier utter a quiet, "Sorry," and allowed himself to be stripped down and heaved into the tub. Tiny spots of pink coloured his cheeks at his state of undress and Geralt simply rolled his eyes, chucking the buckets of water over the shivering man. "I've seen your bare arse plenty of times over the past couple months, now is not the time to start being shy."

Spluttering, Jaskier fumbled with his words for moments, a gaping fish, "You- you have _no tact_ , witcher. You would make a _terrible_ nurse." Crossing his arms, he huffed as Geralt dumped one of the buckets straight over his head leaving him gasping.

"Good thing I have no desire to change my profession then." Geralt smirked and took a washcloth coated in soap, scrubbing it absently on the younger man. Candles flickered in the murky reflection of the bath and Jaskier was coated in an apricot glow. A not too terrible look, Geralt noted, but perhaps he was going a bit mad-in-the-head, a bit stir-crazy, cooped up for days fussing over the bard- it would drive anyone a bit loopy. 

"I don't know how to thank you, Geralt," Jaskier uttered softly, the only sounds in the room was the gentle splashes of water and the rustles of trees outside. A frown set in Geralt's face, tense and uncomfortable.

"I would rather you didn't."

"You... are a good friend," Jaskier held his gaze for a few seconds before the witcher looked away, fixated on scrubbing a tiny bit of dried blood on Jaskier's forearm. 

"What have I told you about that?" Geralt grumbled and he ignored the way Jaskier's lips turned up in an impossibly soft smile. 

"Ah yes," he slapped his hands down to his thighs with a splash. "I forgot, the mighty witcher does not associate himself with such mundane and unimportant things such as _friends_." A knowing and tender look ghosted Jaskier's face and Geralt simply rolled his eyes, continuing in his gentle ministrations.

Frowning, he poked at Jaskier's rib with a look of distaste. "You've lost weight. You were slim before but you're starting to look emaciated."

"You are just being dramatic," Jaskier protested, looking down at his body. Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. He conceded.

"When have you ever known me for my dramatics?" Geralt continued washing him. He supposed he would just have to take them to a well-to-do town and purchase heavy meals for Jaskier until he began to fill out. Perhaps less walking would help. Shaking his head, Geralt startled at the intrusive thoughts. _No_ , he would have to dispose of the nuisance and leave the bard to fend for himself.

Nightfall came, gracing over the town with heaving clouds and a few lonely, twinkling stars. Candles growing low, Geralt helped the bard to stand, throwing a towel around him and led him back to the room. Relighting the candles, the wind whooshed from outside but the room was surprisingly still warm from the fire, embers burning quietly in the corner.

"Do you ever think about the legacy you will leave?" Jaskier said, tucked up under fresh sheets and eyes growing heavy with fatigue. Geralt had returned to his chunk of bread and paused chewing. Dough turning sour.

"No," he replied, gruff. "I would rather not leave any. We live on this Earth then we die, simple as. Down to the soil for the maggots. A legacy doesn't change that."

Jaskier tugged idly on the witcher's sleeve, "I know. But don't you want people to remember you? The heroics you have done? People you have saved?"

"I'm no hero, Jaskier. If they remember the good, then they must remember the bad," he frowned, turning away with a large bite of bread. Jaskier mulled over his words with a shrug. Eyes misty and a hazy blue.

"Well, _I_ think you're a hero," he decided, crossing his arms decisively across his chest.

Geralt snorted, "You would have nothing to sing about if you thought otherwise," he scolded lightly. Jaskier's view of the world was so rose-tinted and glowing; an envy, really. 

Jaskier turned to gaze at him, soft, pale skin illuminated in orange. " _I_ won't forget you, you know? You will always have a legacy as I will sing your tales in my songs." It was oddly sincere, intimate in a way Geralt didn't think he had even been with lovers in the past. Swallowing the scratch gathering in his throat, the witcher averted his eyes.

"You'll be dead long before me, don't worry." Geralt slapped him lightly on the thigh, "Now go to sleep, all your talking is giving me an awful headache."

Sprawling back, Jaskier laid down and pulled the sheet around him, hand still clutching the witcher's sleeve and he closed his eyes. "You won't forget _me_ , will you Geralt?" Geralt allowed himself a small smile in the privacy of Jaskier's closed eyes.

"Don't think I have a choice, really."

With that drew a matching, soft smile upon Jaskier's features; a contrast to his usual, cheesy, cheek-splitting grin. "Night, Geralt."

"Night."

Sunrise awoke Geralt, light creeping between the thin sheets and blazing on his happily closed eyelids. Sleep had been scarce the past few days and it was the first, proper rest he had got in ages- uninterrupted by Jaskier's fever-addled hysterics. Birds begun their song of the morning, twittering from tree to tree. His stomach growled uncomfortably and he stretched from his huddled position, curled slightly over Jaskier's bedroll. A crick in his neck and a numb hand from where it had been clutched during the night, he shook off the pains with a light walk which arose Jaskier, stirring, mumbling and rubbing his eyes with a sleepy expression.

Blinking around him, his eyes shone blue in the pale morning light and Geralt stared at him just a moment before pulling away, gathering up some clothes into his backpack.

"Morning," Jaskier sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand like a five year old, pout set on his face and looking more lively than he had in days. "I feel a bit better today."

Geralt placed the back of his hand against the young man's forehead. "I can feel that. Your fever is gone," he muttered before giving Jaskier a clip round the ear. "You can finally get out of my hair- or start earning your keep then."

The widow, or Victoria as Geralt had come to known smiled widely when informed of the strange young man's return to good health. Two hot cups of tea were pressed into his hands. "I can't thank you enough for your hospitality these past couple of days. Without your help, he would be dead." She waved his thanks away dismissively. 

"The company has done me good. Plus the villagers will be thankful to have those few _mishaps_ tidied up." Her eyes were kind, warm and chocolatey brown, clouded in a way that only trauma could bring. Wrinkles aligned her face but Geralt could tell she was quite beautiful.

Nodding his head, "You have my word. I will have those contracts completed and I will be on my way before sunset. I think he is fit for travel now so we won't be a burden much longer."

Again, she waved her hand, "Never a burden. I will always be happy to help good men in need. It is what my dear Richard would have wanted." A good woman. A _strong_ woman. Geralt accepted the drinks with a nod and tight smile.

"You look relieved," Victoria noted over a pot of boiling stew. "A weight has been lifted from you." Geralt sipped on his drink with a raised eyebrow. He wanted to tell her it was simply that he didn't have the energy to bury the man, that it was less hassle this way. But the words wouldn't form in his mouth, their shapes lost and his mouth floundered.

 _I am_.

Jaskier had taken it upon himself to dress up in Geralt's clothes- the only thing he could find in the small room to protect his modesty. A white shirt hung from him like a dress and the black trousers were no better. It even drew a gruff chucklewhen Geralt entered, passing him the lukewarm cup of tea.

"You look like a child playing dress-up."

"Well, there is nothing else for me to wear Geralt! I don't suppose you expect me to prance out into the village _in the nude_ , do you?" Jaskier huffed, on his feet for the first time in days- albeit shakily; a new born dear, legs held upright by hands clutching the walls.

"It wouldn't be the first time." Geralt mumbled, ignoring the indignant look of Jaskier and he didn't look half bad all wrapped up in Geralt's clothing. Victoria was preparing them food, oats for Roach, and then they would be on their way. It was a day or two travel to a more affluent town where Jaskier could rest properly in an inn, eat rich foods to gain some weight, and enjoy an ale or five. Geralt would return to this village to complete his contracts and join him after a day or two.

Roach neighed with appreciation when he fed her, filled her water trough and took her out for a light walk around the village. Time in one spot made her restless- it was why they got on so well and her legs were itching for the road. 

"I know, girl." Geralt stroked her mane and looked up in surprise when he was joined in the stables by a pale, but standing, Jaskier.

"Do you always talk to your horse then?" 

"I thought you were having a wash." Geralt bit back instinctively. It wasn't uncommon to talk to your pet, for heaven's sake- they didn't talk back. What could be better? 

"Done!" Jaskier looked all proud of himself, hands on his hips. Geralt strode towards him with a raised eyebrow, "Would you like sticker then, or what?" Despite the harsh words, when flu had first stricken Jaskier it would have been impossible for the man to lift his head, let alone go for a wash, so it wasn't without some consolation that the bard was scampering around once more, likely causing trouble.

"As a matter of fact, I would, dear witcher," Jaskier grinned, a menace of a thing. But _God_ , if it didn't bring reprieve to Geralt's too-old, too-tired heart.

They left on horseback in the late afternoon, both of them riding on Roach with their backpacks hanging from her saddle bags. It was a heavy weight for her, but he supposed Jaskier was fairly light and Roach had plenty of pent-up energy to burn. Jaskier sat behind him, hands loose around his waist, drifting from time to time to his thighs, back to his ribs and repeat. Occasionally his head would bob, dip, before falling and resting on Geralt's shoulder, the light purr of snores and the breath on his neck as they rode. A comfort. A weight.

Jaskier slept soundly, rising every hour or so to sing a little song, complain about how sore his head was, or simply to be, warm and weightless against Geralt's back, and by _God's_ he wanted to leave the bard in the next town over and forget about him for good, but that was easier said than done. A selfish, greedy, green little thing clung to the sanity of his brain, erased all rational and told himself than _perhaps_ , it _might_ be all right if Jaskier stayed with him. _Perhaps_ , he _might_ be able to protect him well enough to keep him alive. _Perhaps_ , his company _might_ be enough for the ever-excitable bard.

 _Perhaps_ , of course. It was only time that would tell.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! please leave your thoughts/concrit/prompts/etc!


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